


It's an accident.

by d__T



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: 99th ravager clan, Desperation, Failed Scene, M/M, More of the Same, Omorashi, Piss Play, Wetting, ch:2, long suffering employees of nameless establishments, non-negotiated scene, public urination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-11-30 15:32:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11466453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d__T/pseuds/d__T
Summary: Prompt: Yondu in the middle of a space battle he wasn't expecting. There was a disagreement as they were leaving a bar and now they're running and he has to pee so bad but he has to fly for their lives.This is that, kind of.





	1. Chapter 1

There’s the Ravager Code. And then there’s the guidelines. Those ain’t codified, they’re more rules of thumb. But ask any Ravager and you’ll find “always know where your blaster is” and “always take a piss before a raid” in the top three.

Yondu knows this. Yondu is acutely aware of this. He’s the damn Captain, for flark’s sake.

And it has now been a planetside hop, some thieving, one unfortunate alarm, a high atmosphere dogfight and some other nonsense and he hasn’t had an opportunity to piss since before the raiding party left the Eclector. It’s lending a sort of clarity to his decisions. Escape atmosphere. Jump. Take a piss.

Last two not necessarily in order.

Easy peasy.

Kraglin’s in the copilot’s seat, not piloting. He’s formulating the upcoming jump on radio coordination with the Bridge. They’re scooting as soon as the M-ship squadron is in the hangar bay, full dock optional. This means Yondu is piloting and he won’t admit it, but it’s been a hot minute since he’s piloted an M-ship. This ain’t even the Warbird, and he’d say that’s why his hands are unsteady and blame the tautness in his legs and belly on the adrenalin. That’s what it is.

He can feel Kraglin looking at him, the  _ are you ok, cap’n _ apparent in his gaze. Or maybe it’s a look of surprise at how close he’s coming to not avoiding the incoming plasma bursts. “Fuck off, Krags.”

Flark, why did he have to take the berzerker squad onboard? Why couldn’t they have gone on some other M-ship during the mad scramble to get off planet? He swears he can see Half-nut’s expression reflected back at him from the windscreen like he can  _ smell  _ the desperation on Yondu. 

Yondu considers sending Half-nut to be composted. Yondu considers the sequence of events that would allow him to take a piss in the extremely immediate future. None of them are satisfactory in regards to leaving his image intact.

_ Finally _ the belly of the Eclector opens up above them and the M-ship squadron boils up inside like ants in reverse and everything gets really hectic for a minute. Kraglin’s relaying orders to the Bridge, the machinery in the guts of the hangar is sliding the M-ships into their home slots, and Yondu has slid down in the pilot’s harness until the crotch strap catches him. The crick it puts in his dick is the best thing that’s happened to him all day, and that’s including the million credit heist that got them all into this situation.

The berzerker crew evaporates like pure alcohol in the sun; they’ve got wounds to lick and carousing to get down to. And that leaves Kraglin staring curiously at Yondu, who is still slouched all the way down in the pilot’s seat like he’s got no intention of moving.

Kraglin looks at him like he’s calculating something, the slight narrowing of his eyes as he moves all of the pieces around into an order that he likes. And then he moves to lean on the back of the pilot’s seat. Yondu feels it all as if in slow motion, the thump of Kraglin’s boots, his hands on his shoulders, Kraglin flipping the lapels of his jacket out of the way, Kraglin sliding his heavy-gloved hands down Yondu’s chest. Kraglin leans to whisper in Yondu’s ear.

“No one here but us, Cap'n. You need help with something?”

Yondu’s brain scrambles, caught three steps behind. “What.”

Kraglin slides his hands down to Yondu’s belly.

Yondu’s brain catches up at the same time Kraglin presses one hand, gentle and flat, across Yondu’s belly. Right above his bladder.

Yondu  _ groans _ and then immediately wishes for a rewind on the day because there was definitely almost certainly a split moment when he could have gone and taken a piss. This all could have been avoided. And now Kraglin’s toying with him. The wave of resentment feels good until he has to snap his knees together as his body punishes him for thinking of anything else for even a moment.

Kraglin abruptly straightens up and steps to the console. Yondu sees the tell in Kraglin’s motion that says he’s hiding a boner, and then he hears the thud of boots on the gangway to the M-ship. He elects instead to focus on pushing the navy-blush out of his face with shallow breaths. He’s certain he doesn’t have the diaphragm control to breath any deeper than that. Whoever it is better go away quickly.

The top of the console flips up when Kraglin releases the catches. The matted underbelly of cable harnesses hangs down, naked and vulnerable, for ease of poking and prodding. Kraglin says in an extremely even tone, “Hiya Peter.”

Peter looks between them, gaze glancing off the back of Kraglin’s head and sideways across Yondu. There’s something off, and he’s wary. "Uh, Horuz said you guys'd need help getting all the ships in full dock?"

The reflection in the windscreen of the ship shows Kraglin all of the deck behind him; Yondu trying to straighten up and be  _ cap’n _ for another minute longer and Peter standing off to the side behind him. Kid looks nervous, he ain’t been on parking duty for long. Or maybe it’s Yondu’s distressed scowl.

Kraglin yanks a clip of wires out of the console before replying. “We’ll handle this one.”

Peter looks between them. Yondu is looking away, Kraglin hasn’t turned to face him.

“Ainchyu got a job ta do? Get out.” Kraglin flicks a finger toward the door.

Peter stares a moment more before trundling off. The thump of his slightly too large boots is the most blessed sound.

Kraglin reinserts the clip of wires and slams the console back down into place. The lock latches automatically engage and it reboots itself. He flicks the  _ hatch shut _ button. Behind him, Yondu makes distressed sound and shoves his hand between the safety harness strap and his leathers to grip his dick tightly through his uniform. 

He looks like he’s in pain, or at least his reflection does. Kraglin engages the dock-n-lock sequence. Big magnetic clamps reach out to grab the M-ship and pull it the rest of the way into its slot before locking it in. It’s a rough procedure, heavy machinery never meant to be gentle to meaty operators but the automated external command sequence is broken  _ again _ and so Peter’s job has been to issue the docking command from inside each ship and then scarper for the next one before the ship tilts back under his feet and locks into place.

The ship tilts to the lock position. Kraglin sways back, steady on his feet until his arse hits the edge of the console. He leans and watches Yondu, steady through the last centimeter drop of the ship and the jerk as the drain/fuel hoses seek and lock onto their ports.

Yondu  _ flinches _ .

The color has drained from his face. His entire body feels cold, except for the dribble of piss caught between his leg and his leathers which feels scalding hot.

Kraglin is smirking at him. His gaze flicks away and comes back with that dark targeted look that means he’s aroused and is waiting for an opportune to lay it on Yondu. Kraglin  _ can’t _ be getting off on this. Yondu opens his mouth to tell him off and a whimper comes out instead.

This gets Kraglin off the console edge, a rough swing of motion towards Yondu. Who makes an aborted attempt to release himself from the harness, frozen in shame the moment he feels the pressure of the buckle on his belly. “ _ Don't. _ ”

“ _ Don't _ what, boss?” Kraglin forces a knee between Yondu's legs, prying them apart. Yondu desperately tightens the grip around his dick, fingers digging through the worn-soft leathers. His brain warns him about bruising and he  _ does not care _ .

He looks up at Kraglin and whispers, “ _ Please _ .”

He doesn't know what he's asking for.

“Relax cap'n, nobody’ll know. I'll make sure of it.”

Kraglin's voice is soothing. He wants. Kraglin places a hand over the one gripping his dick. “ _ Fuck _ .”

“C’mon, I gotchyu.” Kraglin pries his fingers back. Despite Yondu’s growl, his fingers move easily. Easily enough to surprise Kraglin, until the growl ends in a gasp and the thump of his head back against the headrest.

Kraglin pulls Yondu’s hand to rest it flat over Yondu’s belt buckle. He lays his hand over Yondu’s. “C’mon, I’ve gotchya.”

Kraglin pushes. Ever so gently.

The new hot spurt running down Yondu’s leg panics him. He locks down with a grunt just as Kraglin mutters, “Hey, yer doin’ good.”

“Fl _ ark _ .” Trying to flap Kraglin’s hand off his gets him nothing.

Kraglin presses again, and Yondu’s poor tortured body gives up. The relief is a giddy rush, bliss going straight to his brain and overtaxed muscles. He doesn’t notice his moans now, or the way Kraglin is petting the side of his head. The release just feels too good, even cut with shame like it is. Doesn’t even consciously notice Kraglin’s murmured “Yeah, that’s good. Yer doin’ good.”

Kraglin lets him squirm it out before pushing Yondu’s knees together and kneeling across his lap. Yondu is trapped by the harness, by Kraglin, by the way Kraglin’s still pressing gently and rhythmically against his belly until Kraglin decides the buckle of the harness is in his way and pops the release on it. Now the strokes slide down his belly like the last drips will be pushed out of his body. It makes him feel hollow, the relieved emptiness counterpoint to the body-hot puddle between his legs.

When Yondu finds his voice, it’s rough with disbelief. “The hell, Obfonteri?”


	2. This is also an accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kraglin fucks up the timing on getting Yondu out of the bar before it's too late. And the loo is occupied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did we expect more of this? Yes.

Someone is fucking in the loo.

Full stop, complete statement, absolutely no-fucking-doubt-about-it. And there’s the glint of red leather through the rough planks that make the gate in this backwater-ass bar that means it’s crew getting filthy in the shitter. And Yondu is staggering too bad to whistle; he’s got that pained grimace and he’s leaning on Kraglin.

Kraglin’s got an arm around Yondu’s waist and is supporting most of the Captain’s weight and  _ that’s _ got him staggering too and now he’s just trying to drag Yondu’s protesting carcass out to the filthy fucking alley behind the bar.

The rickety screened door bangs shut behind them and now Kraglin’s swearing too, between  _ c’mon cap’n _ s. Finding a corner to piss in shouldn’t be this difficult, but damn if the door didn’t dump them into a floodlit ashy ring hemmed in by stacked crates.

There’s an employee on smoke break, sitting on a crate. The employee makes uncomfortably disinterested eye contact, and points Kraglin into the darkness leaking beyond the crates with their cigarette. Kraglin nods and resumes dragging Yondu, who doesn’t even want to stand on his own anymore.

Out in the darkness beyond the stacked crates, the line of buildings is uneven, brick walls folding back to make a corner full of leaf litter and wrappers. Perfect. Kraglin slings Yondu at it.

Yondu comes to rest with a thud; arm braced high against the wall, forehead resting on his jacketed arm and the other hand at his belt. There’s the faint sound of slipping leather over Yondu’s harsh breathing. Kraglin drapes himself over Yondu’s back, nudging his feet a little further apart. Reaches around to undo Yondu’s belts and fly himself as a sort of apology. He’s babbling, he’s keeping it together only slightly better than Yondu is. “It’s okay boss, just a moment longer now. I know it’s too much. Jus a moment.”

Kraglin is struggling with the fly, futzing the stubborn zipper and belts not for the first time, but the most vehemently. Yondu is panting  _ too much _ , back heaving against Kraglin’s chest, eyes clamped shut. In a moment of clarity, Kraglin gets Yondu’s dick out and simultaneously realizes that this will be hilarious when Yondu stops being mad later.

“C’mon sir,” he rushes, “spread your legs a little more. Yeah, there you go. You’re okay, it’s over now.”

He’s rambling, trying to make fucking up the suspense okay in any way possible and he can feel Yondu struggle to switch from  _ clench _ to  _ relax _ under the hand on his belly so he pushes- not hard- and Yondu suddenly locks one hand back on Kraglin, grinding him tight and yeah there’s gonna be splashback on both their boots when Yondu’s done. But it’s okay because Yondu’s relaxing under Kraglin, breath slowing even as Kraglin’s bit into the leather over his shoulder.

“Fuck, Cap’n,” he says.

“Too far, Obfonteri,” Yondu says.

“I know, sir.” He says. He pets Yondu’s belly, and Yondu snorts.

“Fuck you, Krags.”

Kraglin humps him for the laugh, and lets Yondu decide if he’s gonna engage with the boner jammed up against his ass.

Yondu laughs, and zips himself up before leading Kraglin and his neglected boner back into the bar.


End file.
